My master

Every night similar images repeated themselves.
Night after night, that strange obsession grew inside me until it occupied a space I could no longer ignore. What at first had been a nighttime fantasy ended up becoming a secret need. During the day I tried to behave as always, but it was enough to be alone for those images to return.

The internet ended up being the door.

At first I only looked for what fed my dreams. Then I started looking for something more. I didn't want to remain a spectator. Each image left me with the feeling of contemplating from outside a life that, in some inexplicable way, I felt should be mine.

Until I found that page.

It was a strange place, almost clandestine, where adult men presented themselves as masters or submissives and spoke openly about fantasies that I had never dared to say aloud.

I wrote my introduction with trembling hands.

Then I uploaded some photographs.

For several minutes I stared at the screen, regretful. I thought about deleting all of it and pretending it had never happened. Then messages began to arrive.

One after another.

Some were too young. Others seemed unpleasant to me or simply did not awaken any curiosity in me. I was looking for mature men, self-confident, men whose presence could make me feel that I was truly entering that world that until then had only existed in my dreams.

And then he appeared.

His profile was different.

He didn't need to exaggerate anything. He wrote little, with an almost unsettling confidence. He claimed to be a professional and to have a private space dedicated exclusively to domination encounters. When we started talking, I discovered that he knew perfectly that universe that for me was still unknown territory.

One night he sent me some photographs of his dungeon.

I observed them for a long while.

It didn't seem like an improvised place. Everything was arranged with almost clinical precision: chains, ropes, metal structures, crosses, hooks, beds, and a collection of objects whose purpose I preferred not to ask too much about.

He, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy explaining it all to me.

He told me about the rules.

About the limits.

About trust.

About the word I had to use if I wanted to stop anything.

And, curiously, that was what ended up convincing me.

Because behind that facade of brutality there was something I needed: the certainty that, for once, I could abandon control without losing it completely.

We talked for weeks.

Each conversation increased my impatience. Each photograph made it harder to convince myself that this was a passing madness.

Finally we agreed on the conditions of the encounter.

Then we set the day.

When I closed that conversation, I remained staring at the screen in silence.

It was no lon...